


i can't drown my demons (they know how to swim)

by kadtherine



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: But has a good ending, F/M, Gen, Kinda, Missing Scene, Mother-Son Relationship, Starts angsty, What else is new, alcohol cw, charity is a goddess, kinda i guess, phillip carlyle is a mess, takes place after the gala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 07:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13631412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadtherine/pseuds/kadtherine
Summary: P.T Barnum might be the showman and ringleader, shining beneath the spotlight, but Charity was the force that bonded all of them together once all of the lights were out, backstage.





	i can't drown my demons (they know how to swim)

**Author's Note:**

> First and foremost ! Thank you for the amazing feedback on the CarWheeler fanfic, seriously you're awesome and you keep me going. Here's another a little piece I wrote, which is a bit more - not depressing but it's aint fluff. While there's a lot of Philip x P.T fics - which I adore - I feel like Charity and Phillip have a lot in common. Which prompted this fic. Hopefully, you'll like it !
> 
> Enjoy :)

Phillip watched, his jaw clenched as the amber liquid sloshed around in his glass, the drink spilling over and onto his fingers. He narrowed his eyes at it and brought it to his lips, the smell of whiskey assaulting him as soon as he took a whiff of it. His head spun. His head throbbed. His head felt heavy. His hand felt empty. Phillip tightened his hold around the glass, as if trying to make up for the loss. It felt cold and slippery in his grasp. It felt wrong. Most importantly, it didn't feel like Anne's warm and calloused palm as Phillip wrapped his hand around it. Phillip felt a pair of eye observing him and loosened his hold around the glass. Phillip had felt his parents' judging eyes on him - on her - let go. He had met Anne's accusing eyes and had walked away.

  
Swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, Phillip shook his head and downed his drink in one go without a wince. He set the empty glass on the counter and knocked on it twice, running his fingers through his hair. He barely had the time to blink before an arm appeared in front of him, silently pouring whiskey. Phillip frowned when noticing that the bartender had only filled it half of the glass. Before he could withdrew it, Phillip wrapped a hand around his forearm and pried the bottle out of his hand. He ignored his disapproving look as he filled his glass to the brim before setting it next to him.

 

Phillip felt nauseous and the alcohol didn't make it any better. And yet, here he sat in the same bar P.T Barnum had convinced him to run away and join the circus, in the same inebriated state. He didn't have the circus to run to this time, though. He wouldn't dare go the circus and face the others in the state he was currently in. The thought of going to his parents' estate briefly crossed his mind before it quickly disappeared. He wasn't sure what he would say to his parents if he were to see them at that particular moment. To be honest, Phillip didn't particularly care about what either of them had to say. He was sure he had caused enough grief for the night. Keeping to himself seemed to be the only rational choice.

 

 

  
"Mind if I join you?"

 

 

  
Phillip looked up at the familiar voice, blinking a couple of times at her before he frowned down at his drink. Had he drunk enough for him to be having hallucinations already ? Had he drank that much without noticing ? He didn't bothered to do a mental count of the many drinks he had ordered since he had stepped in the establishment, his focus on the apparition by his side. Apparition that had taken the familiar form of Charity Barnum. Phillip's frown deepened, his fingers tracing the brim of his glass. Why would he be having hallucinations of her ? To his recollection, Phillip barely had the time to carry an entire conversation with the woman throughout the entire evening - he remembered briefly greeting her and winking to the younger girls before going to join Barnum backstage. Surely, he didn't do anything to cause any harm toward her. Perhaps, Phillip thought, perhaps she was a physical manifestation of his guilt, forcing him to face what he had done.

 

Phillip blinked and the apparition remained, standing by his side with a smile on her face and kind eyes. He tilted his head to the side, propping it on his closed fist. The insides of his stomach churned as he watched the bartender passed by and acknowledged her with a nod, cleaning a glass. Phillip took a quick look around the bar, straightening up on his stool as he remarked on the lack of other tenants. Placing both of his hands on the counter, Phillip slowly turned around to face her. Quickly sobering up, he immediately jumped off his stool, swallowing the bile that had risen up his throat. He mentally thanked whatever higher power allowed him to remain on his two feet instead of sprawling on the dirty floor. Phillip briefly remembered the manners he had been taught as he ran his fingers through his hair and straightened his shirt. He inwardly winced, eventually giving up on the task. She had already caught him. Running or hiding weren't options. He folded his hands behind his back and faced Charity.

 

 

 

"Mrs Barnum! What are you doing here?"

 

 

 

She shook her head at him, her smile still in place - if not wider - as she slid on the stool next to him, tucking her skirts beneath. Phillip sat back down, grimacing - maybe he should have spread his coat over her seat before she sat down. Charity didn't show any sign of discomfort, though. Her posture was proper - shoulders pushed back and legs crossed, like every aristocrat girl had been taught in finishing school - and her outfit was proof enough that a lady of her ranking shouldn't be out in a New York bar that late. Still, she managed to look like she belonged, completely at ease and showing no sign of discomfort. There was something about Charity Barnum, her mere presence relaxing. Phillip watched as she pulled out the needles and pins holding up her bun, letting her hair fall down her shoulders. She shook curls out of it and ran her fingers through it with a sigh of relief.

 

 

 

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that ? We've missed you at the circus tonight," she rested her elbows on the counter and intertwined her fingers together, "I'll have whatever he's having."

 

 

 

The bartender gave her a small nod, drumming against the counter before he reached for a glass from under it. He slid it toward her and Phillip couldn't help but cock an impressed eyebrow when she caught it single handedly. The bartender threw him a look, his eyes flickering from him to the bottle of whiskey he had insisted on keeping by his side. Phillip suddenly felt warm, avoiding either of their eyes as he pushed the bottle with a finger. He grabbed it without a word and moved to Charity, pouring it halfway before he made sure to put the bottle out of Phillip's reach. He didn't protest, nor did he lift his head from his crossed arms. His glass remained untouched in front of him, the content suddenly unappealing. Phillip cleared his throat and leaned against the counter.

 

 

 

  
"Wouldn't have thought that anyone had noticed my absence," Phillip sighed, risking a glance from the corner of his eye.

 

 

"Why not?" Charity frowned at him, sipping on her drink, "You've become a crucial part to the show. Phin was pretty concerned when you didn't show up, so were the others. After all, you are," a smile appeared on her face, obscured by the glass in front of her lips, "the Prince of Humbug."

 

 

 

  
Phillip let out a snort at that. He had heard the nickname going around - he wouldn't be surprised if Mr Bennet used it for one of his future critics. Lettie had been the one dubbing him so, the other performers quickly picking on the nickname. Seeing as Barnum held the title of King of Humbug, it was only right for his apprentice to gain a title of his own. It didn't bother Phillip. If anything, it made him feel more included, like he was in on a joke that very few knew and understand. It was all in fun and jest and Phillip wore it proudly, responding to the nickname with an eager smile on his face. All he needed was the crown that went with the title.

 

 

 

  
"Technically, I'm still an apprentice," Phillip remarked on, earning a soft laugh from Charity. Absently picking up his drink, he mimicked the woman's small sips instead of downing it one swift motion, "And I'm sorry if I caused anyone unnecessary concern, it wasn't my attention."

 

 

 

  
Phillip tried not to dwell on the guilt and didn't ask if a certain aeralist had been more worried than others. She had no reasons to be, after all. His hold tightened around his glass and Phillip had to remind himself to take slow, small sips instead of throwing it back like a simple shot.

 

 

 

"No need for that," Charity reassured him with a dismissive wave of her hand. She drained the rest of her glass without a wince and signaled the bartender for a refill, "We all need some room to breathe every now and then."

 

Phillip didn't hear her, unable to tear his eyes for the bottle of whiskey as amber liquid filled her glass, "You know, this is strong stuff. Maybe you should take it easy."

 

 

 

The bartender threw a deadpan look his way because, seriously ? Who was he kidding ? Hadn't he be the one who had clutched the bottle to his chest as if it was a security blanket mere minutes ago. Phillip clenched his jaw, his gaze falling to his own glass. Throwing all caution and pretense out the window, he threw his head back and downed the rest of his drink. His head spun at the sudden movement and he winced, eyes shut tight as he let his head fall back on his chest. Once he had regained his senses, Phillip opened his eyes and turned his glass upside down, pressing a hand against the bottom of it. As if he was making a point. He didn't miss the bartender's nod and crooked smile before the latter went back to drying glasses.

 

 

 

  
"Oh please," Charity let out a snort that would've left his mother gasping in outrage, "When you run along the likes of P.T Barnum, you learn to hold your liquor."

 

  
"Right," he muttered, tapping his fingers against the glass.

 

 

 

He could almost feel his flask burn a hole in the inside pocket of his jacket. Phillip rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed himself off the counter, almost leaning back before he caught himself, remembering that he wa sitting on a stool at the very last second. He threw a look at Charity from the corner of his eye, the latter letting her glass nonchalantly dangle from her fingers as she occasionally glanced at him. Phillip tried to not squirm or recoil back under the weight of her look. He wasn't sure why she was making her that uncomfortable : it wasn't as she was looking at him with disappointment and shame like his parents had. She wasn't looking at him in distrust like some members of the troupe, nor did she looked hurt like Anne had earlier. His hands clenched into fists at the mere thought of her. Charity clearing her throat to his side snapped Phillip out of his trance. He watched as she downed the rest of her drink and pushed the glass, shaking her head when the bartender held the bottle.

 

 

  
"I didn't came here to interrogate you or scold you, Phillip," she reassured him, tucking at the end of her hair, "I haven't had the chance to talk to you at the gala and you were gone before I could approach you."

 

 

  
Phillip let a sigh of his own, running his fingers through his hair. Meeting Charity's eyes, he found himself relaxing a bit, the fog cloaking his mind getting clearer. It wasn't disappointment, or shame he had seen in her eyes. It hadn't been distrust or hurt either. Charity looked at him like she had looked at Caroline when the latter had arrived from ballet practice, sobbing and avoiding anyone who'd tried to get to her. Unsurprisingly, Charity had been the one who had been able to get through Caroline, rubbing her back and waiting patiently for her daughter to gather herself. She was looking at him with motherly concern and Phillip wasn't sure what he done for him to earn it.

 

 

 

  
"I saw my parents tonight," Phillip let out, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders as the words left his mouth, "More like they saw me," he muttered to himself, drumming his fingers against the counter.

 

  
"Oh. I see, "Charity said, straightening up on her stool, her eyes a bit wider.

 

  
"I mean, I don't even talk to them and yet, here I am," Phillip shrugged, taking a look around his surroundings, "It only took a look from them and I was just a little bashful kid again. It shouldn't be getting to me."

 

 

 

Phillip knew why it was getting to him and if the look Charity was giving him was anything to go by, she knew too. She had the decency to keep quiet, though - the look she gave him was enough. He closed his eyes for a second, the hurt-filled brown eyes coming immediately to his mind. Hearing a thud, Phillip reopened his eyes and frowned at the sight of the filled shot glass set in front of him. He looked up to the bartender, the latter ignoring him as he went to serve another tenant. Philip felt the corner of his mouth lift up in a half smile as he pulled the shot glass closer to him, tapping his finger against it.

 

 

 

  
"I get it," Charity retorted and her words were so soft that Phillip thought that he had imagined it at first. He noticed the shot glass in front of her, "I hadn't seen my parents in ten years and yet, when I saw them at the gala, I pushed back my shoulders and made sure that my hair was neatly tucked behind my ears like a proper upper class lady."

 

 

 

  
Phillip briefly remembered the brief interaction - altercation - that had occured between Barnum and a couple of people he hadn't recognize. He had already been on his fourth champagne flute when Jenny Lind had intervened, quickly and effectively providing a distraction. Charity shot him a small smile, as if she could see the gears turn in his mind.

 

 

 

"Phin and my father never really saw eye-to-eye and he always felt like he had something to prove to him, that he was worthy of me," Charity let out a mirthless chuckle at that, lifting a shoulder, "I guess that I did too. I wanted to show the both of them that we had been able to make a life for ourselves without their support. But then they saw the girls and-"

 

 

 

Phillip watched as Charity stared at the wall of bottles in front of her, as if in some sort of daze. She cleared her throat, wrapping two fingers around her shot glass.

 

 

 

  
"And I thought that it'd be nice for them to be in their lives, for Caroline and Helen to get know them as their grandparents and not meaningless strangers. I might not agree with the choices they made but with insight I know those choices are made out of love, that they did what they thought was best at the time."

 

 

  
And though Phillip nodded at the words, he couldn't relate to them. He briefly remembered his younger self spending time with his mother in their gardens after lessons. He remembered his mother's genuine grin as he ran circles around her while making stories on the spot to entertain her - Phillip also remembered how her grins had gotten her bland and mirthless, ignoring him in favour of tea parties. Phillip thought of his father praising his plays during dinner parties. The thought was quickly replaced by the image of the empty theatre box he knew were reserved for his parents. Philip found himself thinking about the way Caroline and Helen would rush to P.T, exhilarated grins on their faces as he'd swing them around and unconsciously compared it to the dread he'd feel whenever his father came home from work. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat, looking back at Charity with a small smile on his face.

 

 

 

"I guess you're right," he said, tapping a finger against the brim of his glass. He licked his lips, restraining the urge to bring the drink to his mouth.

 

 

 

Charity returned the smile before letting a sigh. She ran her fingers through her hair, tugging at it, and pushed the untouched shot glass with her finger. Phillip watched as she adjusted her scarf around her neck, turning on her stool so she could face him.

 

 

 

 

"Would you mind walking me home? It's a nice, warm night out and the trek will surely help you clear your head more efficiently," Charity slid off her stool, shoving her hands in the pockets of her coat, "And Phin will sleep easy knowing you aren't dead in a ditch somewhere."

 

 

 

 

Phillip narrowed his eyes at her and Charity held his gaze without flinching, patiently awaiting for his response. Not that she actually had to hear his actual answer; the choice had already been made the second she had slid off the stool, leaving her glass untouched. Despite his half-drunken state, he could see what she was doing. Critics always spoke of P.T's silver tongue and charm, they talked about the way that he'd managed to fool audience and performers alike with his words and a dazzling grin. Phillip thought that neither of his critics would last a second if they were to face Charity. She could've asked the bartender to call a car for her. She could've asked him to do it. Hell, she could even have done it herself. But Charity didn't. Instead, she had requested for Phillip to accompany her back to her home, assuring that he wouldn't stay and drown his sorrow in another round of shots after her departure. There was something about the Barnum, Phillip thought. Something about them that made it impossible for him to refuse any of their requests.

 

She smiled at him and Phillip couldn't help the small laugh that escaped his mouth. Shaking his head, he reached for the inside of his pocket - unflinching when feeling the cold surface of his half-filled flask - and got a stack of bills that would cover for his and Charity's drinks. Setting it down next to his still-full shot glass, Phillip gave a small to the bartender before he his top hat and coat, slowly getting up his feet - swallowing a cry of relief when he didn't drop flat on his face. Dropping the hat on his head, he chose to drap his coat on his arm while holding his other one for Charity to grab, an eyebrow cocked. If anything, Charity's smile widened as she wrapped her arm around Phillip's, leading the two out of the bar and into the streets of New York.

 

The skies are clear and so were the streets, much to Phillip's surprise. But then again, he had been in the bar for a long time, Phillip thought with a frown. He sighed and shoved his hands in his pant pockets, looking up at the heavens. They rarely saw the stars in New York, usually they'd have to walk to the beaches to even catch a glimpse of cloudless skies. It was nice, refreshing. Phillip mentally reminded himself to bring the girls in spring or early summer, hopefully they'd be lucky and even see fireflies. He briefly wondered if he'd be able to convince Anne to cut her practice short for on- Phillip shook his head before the idea could fully developed in his mind and hoped that Charity wasn't paying attention. Who was he kidding, she was always paying attention. Phillip felt warm and he didn't know if it was the alcohol running through his blood or the traitorous thoughts running through his mind. If asked, Phillip would say that it was the alcohol.

 

Charity provided the perfect distraction halfway through their trek to the Barnum household and Phillip found himself relaxing as he listened to her recount Helen's latest fancies and adventures. Apparently, the youngest of the Barnum bunch seemed to think that them acquiring a mermaid would do wonders for business. It would had magic to it, had she said - as well would unicorns and fairies. P.T had already ran the two ideas by him, whining about how Helen was too smart to recognize a real-unicorn from a regular white horse with a makeshift horn. Phillip had suggested that they hire new aeralists in guise of fairies and the idea had been enough to put an end P.T's frentic pacing. Charity was talking about Caroline's suggestion of adding cotton candy and caramelized apples - Phillip's stomach gave a small groan at that, reminding him that he had only consumed liquid that evening - when they stepped foot on the Barnum propriety.

 

He hadn't even recognized the grounds, engrossed in the current conversation, before they walked past the opened gates. Phillip looked up at the mansion and couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips at the sight. It didn't loom over him, like his parents' manor did. From where he stood, he could see a light coming from where he knew was the kitchen. He threw a look to the upper windows, noticing that the curtains of Helen's and Caroline's windows had been drawn closed.

 

 

 

  
"Good evening, Mrs Barnum. Mr Carlyle," a valet greeted them at the door, snapping Phillip's out of his contemplation, "I trust you had a good walk."

 

  
"Invigorating, Bertrand," Charity answered with a smile, letting him take her coat and scarf.

 

 

 

  
Bertrand turned toward Phillip and cocked an eyebrow at him, expectant. Phillip hastily took off his top hat and handed both hat and coat to him with a small smile. Bertrand drapped the coat over his arm and turned back to face Charity.

 

 

 

  
"Will you need for me to call for a room to be prepared, Ma'am ?"

 

  
"That will not be necessary, thank you," Charity said, toeing off her shoes, "I'll have a car drive you back home," she added with a smile and much to Phillip's confusion, she wasn't talking to him.

 

 

  
Bertrand gave her a nod before taking his leave. Charity crooked a finger at him, beckoning Phillip to follow her. He did, as if entranced by the sight of her walking barefoot - well, not really, she was still wearing her stockings - through the house, stopping every now and then to pick up a doll Helen had forgotten to put away or fold a comforter, draping it over the back of the couch. Phillip couldn't remember the last time he had seen his mother pick up anything that wasn't a cup of tea or a flute of champagne. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen his mother prance barefoot through the halls of the manor - he held in a snicker as he imagined her horror at the mere suggestion. The floor was littered with toys and shoes and candles enlightened the length of the hall. It felt warm, welcoming and lived in instead of the cold interior, immaculate interior of the Carlyle household.

 

  
Charity stopped at the threshold of the kitchens, rapping her knuckles against it. Peering over her shoulder, Phillip smiled at the sight of P.T Barnum hunched over various drawings and notes - he was pretty sure he caught a sketch of butterfly-fairy like wings. He looked up at the sound, a grin appearing on his face as he caught sight of the two. Leaning back in his chair, he dropped his pen and crossed his arms against his chest, his head tilted to the side.

 

 

  
"Hey, look who I found," Charity announced as she walked into the kitchens, Phillip on her heels

 

  
"Hey there," P.T said, leaning his head back when Charity went to stand behind him, both of her hands on his shoulders as she leaned in for a quick peck.

 

 

 

Phillip leaned against a counter, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed as he tried to give the two as much as privacy as he could with him in the room. He ignored the longing he felt at the sight and clenched his jaw, trying to contain a yawn. Again, it didn't escape Charity's notice. An arm wrapped around her husband's neck, she tilted her head to the side and frowned at him.

 

 

 

"Have you had anything to eat for dinner?"

 

 

 

His lips pursed, Phillip shook his head and pushed himself off the counter. His stomach grumbled, as if on cue and he felt his face flushed, the tips of his ears warm. Smirking, P.T pushed a chair in front of him with a foot and tilted his head toward it. Rolling his eyes, Phillip fell into the chair and pulled the notes closer to him, his head tilted to the side. He didn't have the time to protest when the papers were replaced by a plate filled with food.

 

 

  
"I didn't bring the boy over so the both of you could stay up late at night working," Charity threw P.T a look, squeezing Phillip's shoulder, "I'll prepare the room next to Caroline. Lend him a pair of pants and shirt, would you?"

 

  
"I didn't mean to be a bother-" Phillip started, interrupted by P.T's snort.

 

  
"Of course you didn't," he said, leaning against the table, "And you aren't. I prefer knowing that you're here and safe instead of you being wandering through the streets of New York, drunk out of your damn mind."

 

 

  
Charity nodded at that, shooting him a smile. Phillip smiled back at her, stabbing the fork into a piece of chicken while P.T returned to his sketching. Charity wrapped her hair with a ribbon, putting it up in a high ponytail and she grabbed a lantern off the table before she moved to P.T's side, whispering something in his ear. He nodded and squeezed her hand before she walked past him and made her way to the staircase. Catching Phillip's eye, she winked at him and disappeared into the stairs. Snorting, Phillip shook his head and turned back to his food, only to find P.T looking at him with a smirk on his face.

 

 

  
"What?" Phillip shrugged, his tone slightly defensive.

 

 

 

P.T shook his head and laughed. He wrapped his hand around his glass of water and lifted it, as if toasting to something.

 

 

 

"Congratulations, Mr Carlyle. You're officially part of the family and there's no way out of it."

 

 

 

Phillip froze in mid motion, his fork in front of his mouth as he processed the words. P.T used his distraction to steal the piece of chicken off the cutlery, popping into his mouth. Dropping the fork, Phillip found himself grinning at the thought. P.T Barnum might be the showman and ringleader shining beneath the spotlight, but Charity was the force that bonded all of them together when all of the lights were out, backstage. Phillip grabbed a glass off the drying rack and poured water into it, lifting it in his own private toast before taking a sip of it. _Here's to newfound family._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ! Please, don't forget to leave a comment and kudos and I love you forever. 
> 
> You can also follow me on tumblr, oreosmunroe and we'll become best friends forever and ever. 
> 
> Until next time, you awesome people  
> Kadi.


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